


100 Ways to Say I Love You

by kagurasbuns (orphan_account)



Category: Naruto
Genre: 100 prompts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fluff, Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 00:06:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18457415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/kagurasbuns
Summary: For Deidara, it’s bombing a village and getting Sasori good material for his puppets, delicately handpicked as if he chose flowers for Valentine’s Day. For Sasori, well… he’s a work in progress.





	100 Ways to Say I Love You

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired from this: http://p0ck3tf0x.tumblr.com/post/98502010026/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you
> 
> I gave up trying to maintain order and decided that I'll just write this as I go. Some will be short, some will be longer, some will be connected with other prompts, some will be AU's. Let's see.

**#2 - “It reminded me of you.” ***

“‘Because they’re beautiful?’” Sasori imitated Deidara’s question from last time, amused.

Deidara grinned. “No, because they bloom forever.”

Deidara proudly tucked the ceramic flowers that he exclusively made for Sasori in his mop of red hair. Sasori stayed still.

“Their beauty is everlasting,” Deidara said contentedly as he ran his fingers through adorned red locks.

**#3 - “No, no, it’s my treat.”**

“C’mon, Master, it’ll be fun!”

“Our goal is to take over the castle, not blow it up. Just stay here and enjoy the view.”

Deidara sulked. “Why do I get to take it easy?”

Sasori smirked inside of Hiruko. “It’s my treat.”

**#12 - “Take my jacket, it’s cold outside.”**

The mission is in the Land of Water, and unlike his strange, special partner, Deidara sadly has a human body, and he’s freezing his ass off as they plow through the snowy plains. Even the mouths on his palms are chattering from the cold.

When they set up camp later, Sasori suddenly comes out of Hiruko, wordlessly tosses his cloak to Deidara, and immediately shuts himself back inside of his puppet.

**#14 - “Can I have this dance?”**

Deidara lands nimbly behind Hiruko and stances himself for the troop of guards lunging at Sasori. “Can I have this dance?” he asks cheekily.

“Blow me away,” Sasori says flatly as he engages the other troop coming for Deidara.

**#22 - “It’s not heavy. I’m stronger than I look.”**

Sometimes, Deidara catches glimpses of Sasori that nobody else ever sees. Perhaps Chiyo did, but that was a century ago, and it’s not like she bothered to do something even when she certainly could have.

Late at night, as Sasori works on his little wooden marionettes, the dull sound of clicking and clacking filling their workshop, Deidara could see why Sasori liked puppets so much.

They were always there. All that Sasori had to do was summon them. They kept him company, even if they never breathed, much less spoke - what mattered was that they were the only constants in Sasori’s life, which was riddled with the temporary.

At some point during the night (or dawn - the artists tended to lose track of time), a whole pile of puppet joints tumbled on the floor. Deidara had stooped to help Sasori collect the fallen pieces, but Sasori said, “It’s nothing.”

Deidara gave him a quizzical look. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I’m fine,” Sasori had told him, straight in the eye, and Deidara realized he wasn’t talking about puppet joints.

**#23 - “I’ll wait.”**

Sasori hated waiting. If Sasori wouldn’t be remembered as the great puppet master that he was now, then everybody who ever knew him would at least have that arbitrary piece of information etched into their brains. _He hated waiting_ , the historians would cite, the teachers would tell little children, _because Akasuna no Sasori had been waiting for over twenty years._

It’s to Deidara’s utter shock, then, when Sasori comes at him with a strange retort during one of their more serious arguments.

“I’ll wait until you’re ready to live forever,” Sasori declared.

**#43 - “I picked these for you.”**

A stack of corpses materialized from the scroll that Deidara had unfurled on the ground. Upon inspection, Sasori recognized each of them as formidable shinobi from different villages - one from the Fire Country, one from the Water Country, and so on.

“Do you like them?” Deidara asked him expectantly.  

“Not bad,” Sasori said, a faint smile on his face.

**#50 - “I think you’re beautiful.” ***

It’s Deidara who says it more often, but there’s a time when Deidara feels anything but beautiful. He holes himself up in their workshop, the mouths on his palms full of clay, his counter a total chaos of half-done sculptures.

Sasori helps him clean up the mess, pulls him into a corner, and whispers it as if it were a secret - though not in the way Deidara expresses it, Sasori’s sincerity comes through. “You’re just fine.”

**#51 - “Are you sure?”**

It’s Sasori who says it more often because he’s skeptical as a whole. This time, however, Sasori had never been more sure.

“You really think so?” Deidara asks hesitantly with a furrowed brow.

“Absolutely,” Sasori says, and reaches for some of the clay on Deidara’s counter. He hands it over to Deidara, who looks up at Sasori again tentatively before the blonde squeezes his hand into a fist and produces a tiny clay scorpion.

Sasori doesn’t try too hard to stop or hide the proud smile that spreads on his face. “Lighten up, brat,” he snorts.  

Deidara doesn’t try to hide the one on his face at all. “Thank you.”

**#58 - “You don’t have to say anything.”**

_(*AU - Modern Setting.)_

An art exhibit about shinobi in the past had recently opened up downtown. Sasori, for the most part, wasn’t totally opposed to it. He and Deidara were fairly certain that their own works would be featured there (although in Deidara’s case, Sasori had a few doubts), and it was always their ambition to be recognized as artists, not as terrorists. Art, after all, served everyone - including the heartless degenerates of society.

Still, as he and Deidara navigated through the whitewashed maze of the exhibit, anticipating a display of spectacular explosions and intricate puppetry - Sasori felt… strange. Like he didn’t want to see his own art. Like he wanted to just turn away and go back to their apartment. Perhaps it was the lack of coffee or sleep or something else entirely, but as Sasori stared at his very own puppet body, meticulously preserved for eras and held in the lifeless embrace of his two ever-inanimate parents - he understood, then, the pointlessness of having come here at all.

Deidara noticed something was wrong when Sasori didn’t stick around to see the rest of his own exhibit. He took Sasori’s hand, and grew increasingly worried when Sasori didn’t push him away. Something about the past struck a nerve in Sasori, a nerve that he didn’t know he had, and it was agonizing to feel that way without understanding why.

“What’s wrong?” Deidara asked.

“Let’s go home,” Sasori said simply.

That night Sasori kept tossing and turning until Deidara held him, and Sasori wondered if this what it felt like to be under a ceramicist’s hands, rough and fragile and broken. He crumbled under Deidara like imperfect clay and he _hurt_ all over without knowing why, the tears on his face painting his cheeks in streaks that Sasori didn’t even realize they were capable of, and Deidara held him like he was the most delicate piece of work that he’d ever made.

Deidara molded him back to a much more stable mood with a cup of coffee the next morning. Deidara only looked at Sasori once. His eyes were soft, lips pursed - in that moment he wordlessly reassured Sasori that there was no need to talk about it.

Sasori was never more grateful for the space.

**Author's Note:**

> * #2 is inspired from my other SasoDei drabble entitled "bloom."  
> * #50 is connected with #51 if you were confused.


End file.
